Perchance farther out from the shore, under the influence of a brighter sky, they may be blue, but certainly the waves that broke on the beach were muddy and the river flowing into the lake at Milwaukee, which is visible from the train, is exceedingly filthy. Only comparisons are odious, I would say that it looked as vile as that at Chicago. It needs a strong sense of the picturesque and beautiful to tolerate the waters of the Venetian canals in summer time, but here, without any compensation, there are the odours and the nastiness which one would more willingly encounter in paying homage to the Queen of the Adriatic in July or August.
On the lake were many sailing vessels with snowy cotton canvas, the intermediate belt of land being thickly populated, rich, well cultivated, and prettily wooded. Now and then a huge steamer came in view, vomiting masses of smoke, too common a disfigurement of these pure skies, for neither on shore nor on the river do they burn it. Chicago is almost as black and smoky as Birmingham. Racine seemed to have its full share of prosperity and manufacturing industry, but Milwaukee, which we reached at 2.20 P.M., added one to the many surprises which our party encountered in the United States. Mr. W. Mitchell, who came from Aberdeen some forty odd years ago, one of the chief men of the place, in company with other gentlemen, met the Duke of Sutherland, and drove us through the city. It contrasted very favourably in the cleanliness of the streets and the general appearance of unadulterated well-doing of the population with Chicago—a crowning glory to Mr. Mitchell, and those like him who remember the town as a toddling, wee hamlet, and see it now flourishing and opulent, with its 50,000 inhabitants.
Like many other places in this vast region, the site of Milwaukee owes its discovery to one of the band of French missionaries, who, with devotion and courage never surpassed even by the chivalrous explorers who cast such a glory over the flag of France for nearly two centuries, made their way amongst hostile Indians, carrying the Cross in their hands, through forest, prairie, and mountain, descended rivers and navigated lakes, in the futile attempt to civilise and Christianise the Red Man. The Indians used the indent in the shore where Milwaukee stands as the centre of their permanent settlements. They were established there when the first traders came, and La Framboise, who left some record of his adventures amongst them, began his intercourse in the way which has signalised the early relations of the white to the red man but too often. Nevertheless, the whites and Indians got on exceedingly well for many years. The former were French, or French half-breeds. The French generally agree better with the natives than the British and British-Americans. In 1820, however, a man named Juneau was the only white settler, and it was not till 1831 that he obtained a grant from the Indians of the whole of the ground on which Milwaukee now stands. Two gentlemen named Kilbourn and Walker (names perpetuated in the city) settled and established commercial relations with the people and traders of the outlying regions. As an American writer says,—"The town, which has sprung up like Jonah's gourd, grew up partly on a sand-hill and partly in a mud-hole, one being cut down to fill the other up, because men found they could accumulate wealth there." Chicago, down south, had started in formidable competition, but Milwaukee was not to be beaten. It built its quays and store-houses, and projects its piers and jetties, harbour of refuge and docks. You look round and find it hard to believe that not half a century ago the site of this city was described as "an utter wilderness, a howling, untutored, worthless stretch of forest and prairie." Elevators tower aloft; the marsh has been drained, and is now a maze of canals and slips. The buildings in the city are in strong contrast, in the air of propriety and exquisite cleanliness, to the river on which it is built. This appears much due to the material—a light-coloured brick—largely used in the houses. There is a coquetry in the local architecture. The genius of the American architect in woodwork is varied. It deals in pinnacles, gables, verandahs, porticoes, eaves, and quaintly coloured fronts; and where the proprietor has not indulged in brick or stone, he has availed himself of paint, generally blue or slate colour, to decorate the exterior. The number of detached residences, standing in their own grounds amidst garden-plots and plantations, suggests wealth and comfort. The trees of the forest have been spared, and if the axe has been applied it has been wielded with judgment.
Milwaukee is famous for its beer. More than half a million barrels were made and sold the year before last, and still the trade is growing. There appear to be Germans enough to have stomach for it all in the city and the district round about. A Teutonic soil with a top dressing of Scotch may be said to constitute the stratum of the organic formation of the people of Milwaukee.
After a visit to the Soldiers' Home, an asylum for veterans of the militia and volunteers of Ohio and neighbouring States—a very interesting establishment two miles from the city—and a look at Mr. Mitchell's well-ordered, luxurious residence on the outskirts, Panklinton House received us, and at 10 p.m. we continued our course westwards towards St. Paul, travelling all night, and sleeping most comfortably in the Pullman car.
CHAPTER VIII.
Minnesota.
The Mississippi—St. Paul—Minneapolis—Le Mars—Sioux City—Life on the Rail—Muddy Missouri—Kansas City—Old and New Friends.
May 24th.—At 6 A.M. we were aroused from our slumbers by the rattling of the train over the Mississippi bridge near La Crosse, 195 miles from Milwaukee, which is on the east bank of the river.
All next day through a country of great fertility, with many orchards, green pasturage, and fields of wheat and maize, and we were fain to believe that night had hid at least an equal richness from our view.
On the highway of the Central Illinois Railway there is an enormous extent of the richest soil. One may pass miles and miles, day after day, I am told, over prairie land covered with rich grass and vegetation. An emigrant with a strong arm, a strong head, and a little money, pushing far afield out of the beaten track, can still, it is said, secure in Minnesota, Iowa, Illinois, and Wisconsin, land which in a few years will yield a rich return for his investment and his labour. But it is not, from all I could hear, quite a paradise to live in, nor will the emigrant, at least at the outset, complain of the roses lying too thickly under him. There are broken men here as well as in other parts of the world, but they are "lazy, ne'er-do-weels; they drink and smoke and pass their lives in front of the bar-rooms, liquor saloons, and gambling shops." Some of them deny that the description applies to them; they attribute their ill-fortune to natural causes—to the terrible winters which seem to destroy all life, at times covering the country with snow, which melting, swells the rivers, which sweep over the fields, depositing a thick mud on the surface or carrying away the crops. As to the existence of a winter of great intensity and duration there can be no dispute; but neither man nor cattle succumb to its effects. On all sides, however, we were assured that the cold is not comparable to that which we experience in England, unless there is a strong wind which causes evaporation. How the emigrant can support these long and dreary winters in his log shanty, where fuel is not too plentiful, I am at a loss to understand, unless it be indeed true that the cold, no matter what the thermometer shows, is not so cold as it is in Europe. But, without jesting, there is concurrent testimony from settlers with whom we spoke, that they can go about without inconvenience when the thermometer marks twenty or thirty degrees of frost; and the same fact is reported in Manitoba of Western Canada. It is, they say, the dryness of the air which mitigates the severity of the cold.